


War Screws Everybody

by maxvandenburgs



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 04:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3881677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxvandenburgs/pseuds/maxvandenburgs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if it wasn't Eugene Jackson that died on The Last Patrol?</p><p>An alternative ending to Episode Eight of Band Of Brothers in which David Webster is struck by German artillery and not Eugene Jackson. He chooses to share his last few moments with friend and secret lover, Joseph Liebgott. before the world goes dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War Screws Everybody

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I got an idea for an incredibly sad Webgott fic that I suppose is essentially just an AU for The Last Patrol. The premise is: what if it wasn’t Jackson that died on the patrol? I’ll let you figure out the rest for yourself as you read, but this is a prior warning that this fic contains death. 
> 
> P.S., I know that Dick gets made Major just after this happens at the end of the episode, but I only realised after I’d written it and I couldn’t be bothered to go and change all of the ‘Majors’ to ‘Captains’. Sorry!

The anxiety in the atmosphere was almost tangible as those left behind sat around nervously, anticipating any news that came. Silence weighed down onto them all like a thick fleece blanket, suffocating them until Joseph Liebgott, the scrawny little guy huddled up on the top bunk on the left chewing his fingernails down to the nub, couldn’t take it anymore.

“Where the fuck are they?” He almost hissed. They’d been gone for over an hour now, longer than everyone had expected they’d be. And whilst everyone was beginning to feel anxiety pool in their stomachs, none were as nervous as Joe. No man answered him, for no man knew the answer, not even Major Winters, who always had all the answers. He just avoided Joe’s gaze, probably just as nervous as the boy who’d addressed him.

He’d tried to hide it well. For a while, he’d simply stared at the ceiling, curled up beneath the blankets on his friend, David Webster’s, bed. He’d tried not to think about it at all, really. After all, thinking would lead to bad thoughts and he didn’t want that. _No, everything would be absolutely fine,_ he’d told himself as he twiddled his cigarette between his fingers. _All the boys would be back soon, safe and sound, with a couple of Kraut prisoners to boot. There’s nothing to worry about at all._

But even so, everyone else in the room could sense the nervous energy of the man beside him. They were so close to the end that most of them could taste the sweet American sunshine they’d all be returning home to soon enough. In war, it was awful to lose any of your men, but to lose someone now when the prospect of home was so close would be a God damn fucking tragedy.

2 a.m was fast approaching and the tight feeling in Liebgott’s chest was becoming almost unbearable. Something wasn’t right. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he did. As cliché as it was, he could feel it in his bones. And sitting around just waiting was worse than being on the patrol itself. Now he just found himself wishing he’d gone along with the men instead of opting out earlier on. At least that way, he’d have a fucking clue of what was going on out there.

The pressure in his head was now so bad that it felt like he was breathing underwater and if the men were any longer than a few minutes, he thought he might explode. Where were they? What was going on? They should have been back ages ago. Where the fuck were-

“Medic!” The shrill cry sounded from the front door of the house, painful and urged. Liebgott was up and off Dave’s bed within a second and along with all of the others, was filing down to the basement of the house, clearing a table of all its papers for the patrol men to bring the wounded onto.

“Stand back!” It was the same voice that had called for the doctor and it had taken a stunned Joe to realise that it was Babe, who sure enough burst through the door of the basement a second later, carrying the legs of a man who Liebgott couldn’t quite see, with Jackson holding the wounded solider beneath the armpits.

“Where the fuck is a medic?!” Babe called again as he and Jackson lumbered a man which significant facial wounds down onto the table that had been cleared. “Where’s Gene? Someone go find Doc fucking Roe!”

There was no need for anyone to be sent to find the medic. Instantly, Gene burst through the door, his face surprisingly calm and composed, lost in a sea of men with panic and fear etched across their features.

Liebgott looked on, helpless. Everything had happened so quickly and there had been hardly any time for him to process it all. The man on the table writhed about in agony and his facial wounds had severely damaged the left side of his face so he was practically unrecognisable. And as Liebgott scanned the faces of the worried patrol men who had just filed in, he noticed the person he was looking for wasn’t there, or rather he was, but he wasn’t standing.

Webster, _his_ David, was the wounded man writhing about in agony on that table.

He wanted to throw up or pass out or do both simultaneously. No. Not David. Not his Web. It couldn’t be. Stunned into silence, Joe stared at David screaming out in pain on that table and felt bile rise in his throat. Saving whoever it was that was wounded had been important ten seconds ago, of course it had, but now? Now it was essential.

“Joe!” A voice was shouting at him, calling his name, but it was muffled, as if he had cotton wool shoved deep into his ears. “Joe! Get over here and fucking help!” Liebgott couldn’t move, even if he wanted to. He was rooted to the spot, petrified because Webster looked so awful, his wounds so serious. What if they couldn’t save him? What if they couldn’t-

“Joseph Liebgott, we need you over here, _now_!” It was Winters, shouting directly at him, inches from his face. That was enough to snap him into action and suddenly, he’d gone from not being able to help at all to not being able to stop. What the fuck had he been doing?

Rushing over, he didn’t do as he was told, which was to hold Webster’s legs down. Instead, he took hold of the man’s hand, clutching it hard, letting David squeeze it as hard as he needed to. Voices were drowned around him until all he could hear and all he could see was Webster, screaming and crying, half of his face blown to smithereens. Joe tried so desperately not to cry.

“Hey, it’s okay, buddy,” he tried to soothe. “You hang in there, Web, we’re gonna get you sorted out.” He wanted to bring David’s hand to his mouth, wanted to kiss his knuckles, if it was going to be the last time he could kiss him. But he didn’t risk it.

“Keep talkin’ to him, Joe.” He heard Gene say to him as he tried to patch up Web’s face as best he could. “Keep him with us.”

It was all far too surreal and the words that Joe spoke sounded foreign and wrong in his mouth. His mind had accepted it the second Webster had been brought in through that door, but his heart had still refused to believe that this was happening. That couldn’t be Webster on the table, it couldn’t be. He had to be dreaming. The men weren’t even back from the patrol yet - he’d fallen asleep on Webster’s bed, that was all. That was what he wanted to think, what he so desperately wanted to believe, but in his heart, he knew that wasn’t the truth.

“He’s going to die, isn’t he?” Someone wailed, but Joe couldn’t match a face to the voice he’d heard. “He’s going to die!”

“He’s not goin’ to die; we won’t let him!” Gene shouted back before addressing Webster, who was still screaming in pain. “You just hang in there, son. Gonna have you good as new in no time.”

Two men were holding down his legs, another two on his arms and one held his face straight to make Doc Roe’s job much easier. Liebgott felt so pathetic just holding his hand, whispering stupid words of comfort that didn’t help in the slightest. They couldn’t making Webster feel any better because here he was, wailing about how he didn’t want to die, how he wasn’t ready. In years to come, when all of this was over, those words still haunted Joe in his darkest of moments. They’d always bring a tear to his eye.

“Webster, you need to hold _still_.” Gene demanded. “I can’t help you if you keep movin’.”

“I know it hurts, son, but we need to help you.” It was Major Winters, his voice so soothing, so calm and rational even in such a time of panic. Webster’s frantic movements become less wild, but his whimpers still filled the room and tore Joe’s heart apart piece by piece every time.

Gene began to take care of Web as only he knew how and Lieb watched on helplessly, stroking his thumb across David’s knuckles. The wounded boy’s cries became less frequent, less piercing. They were hardly cries at all any more - they were too weak to be called that.

It began to dawn on Joe just exactly why that was and he felt like screaming. Webster was going to die. Right here, right now, on a table in a dank, dirty basement in Haguenau, David Webster would die - and there was nothing that any of the men could do to stop that.

“No!” The word ripped from Joe’s throat desperately and it was loudest he’d been all evening. “No, Web! You stay with me! Don’t you fucking dare leave me, you asshole! Don’t you dare!”

Webster was barely jolting at all now, and he gasped desperately for his last few breaths. He wanted to speak. He still had so much left to say, so much left to do. He had to go back to Harvard and finish school. He had to write a book. He had to get married and have children. He couldn’t let his life be cut short here. He refused to die in a basement in Haguenau.

Unfortunately, David Webster didn’t have much say over when or where his life ended and ultimately, this was it. Whether he wanted to or not, he was going to die here tonight, with his brothers by his side. And suddenly, that didn’t seem so bad. Dying surrounded by these men felt okay, because at least he wouldn’t go out of the world alone.

“Lieb,” he choked the word out so softly that it was barely audible. Most of the men didn’t hear it at first but Joe’s ears pricked up and he leaned in closer, snivelling.

Joe shushed him. “You don’t have to speak, it’s okay. I’m here. We’re all here. You’re okay.” He figured there wasn’t much point in telling Web not to die, telling him to not do something that was inevitable anyway.

And of course, Webster being Webster, he completely ignored what Joe had told him to do. “I guess they really got me this time, didn’t they?” He laughed slightly, but it hurt to do it and he winced. His breath was leaving him in long, deep gasps. His organs were shutting down. None of them could have known in that moment that it was less than a minute before he would be dead.

“We ain’t gonna forget you, Web. None of us.” Joe promised him. “Not as long as I’m alive am I gonna forget ya.”

David smiled at that, but he was so frightened. He could feel darkness closing in. The grip that Joe had on his hand was starting to fade. His body began to go numb.

“Lieb,” he choked out that same word again, but this time, his voice cracked with it. “I’m scared.”

“I know, I know.” Liebgott tried to soothe him. He brushed what was left of his charred, blackened hair gently off of his forehead. “It’s okay. Everything’s alright, Web. You can go.”

All of the rest of the men looked on helplessly. Some had tears in their eyes. Gene was worst of all. He sat huddled up in the corner, unable to look, sobbing. He was the medic. He should have saved Web. He was to blame. Babe was trying to comfort him. He had his arm around the doctor’s shoulders, reassuring him that he did all that he could, but it had simply been Web’s time to go. Gene didn’t believe any of it.

Back on the table, Web didn’t have the energy to speak any more. But he could still feel Joe’s hand in his, just slightly, and he could see his face, could see the tears staining his cheeks. Rasping for breath, it was only a second or two before David’s chest stilled completely and his grip on Joe’s hand slackened. And the entire room fell utterly silent.

That awful, deafening silence lasted a few seconds but felt like an age and nobody wanted to be the first to break it. Everyone’s eyes kept flitting between David’s lifeless body and Joe, whom he’d chosen to share his last words with. It was almost as if everybody was waiting for him to break.

There was nothing spectacular about the way Joe Liebgott fell apart. There was no lamenting, no wailing grief flooding from his eyes. In fact, many of the men would have preferred that to be the case, because the way in which Joe Liebgott grieved was far more painful to watch.

He physically shut down. Once he’d accepted that his lover had gone, he slid his hand out of Webster’s own, closing the man’s palm. And now, he felt no shame in bringing the man’s hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles gently. Standing up, Joe watched as Dick closed David’s eyes and Speirs brought a blanket over the dead man’s body to hide his face. Every man in the room hung his head in respect for the soldier they’d lost: the clever, kind, God damn shark-loving David Webster.

Joe didn’t hang his head. He simply turned to leave the room, completely numb. The entire basement span at a dizzying pace and he could hear his own breath leaving his body, heavy and loud. He could feel eyes burning into the back of him and before he could make it to the door, it all became too much.

His body collapsed against the door frame, a puddle of skin and bone on the dusty floor. He didn’t cry - he was pretty sure he’d forgotten how to - and instantly, Dick was by his side.

“Liebgott?” He asked, his thick accent laced with concern. He didn’t know what else to ask - what words could suffice in a situation like this? The boy had just watched his best fucking friend die. Dick couldn’t even begin to imagine how he’d feel if that had been Nix on the table instead.

Joe had lost all words. David had stolen them when he’d gone and the boy left behind was almost certain he’d never be able to find them again. He stared directly through the Major, dazed, eyes glassed over with something unreadable and scary.

“Alright, clear out, boys. Go get some sleep.” Major Winters stood and addressed the men who stood around helplessly. Babe was still comforting an inconsolable Gene in the corner and had to help the medic to his feet and support him as they left the dusky basement. Eventually, just Joe, Dick and Webster were left alone in the room. Winters sunk down onto the floor beside Liebgott.

“You do know I can’t leave you alone like this, don’t you?” He began slowly, looking directly at Joe even though the boy wasn’t looking back at him. “Grief can do crazy things to the best of us and well, we wouldn’t want you doin’ anything stupid, Joe.” It was unlike Dick to use the boys’ first names when addressing them, but he felt that in this situation, it was needed.

“I’m sorry, Liebgott, I… didn’t realise you two were so close.” He gulped, not sure if any of his words would suffice right now. As expected, Joe didn’t respond, couldn’t, rather. He stared ahead spookily, clutching the wall beside him, legs tucked up underneath him.

“God damn this fucking war!” Dick exclaimed suddenly, expressing anger that was unusual for him. To emphasise his curse, he kicked out at a box on the floor when he said it, holding his head in his hands afterwards. It didn’t startle Joe - he was too far gone for that. He’d gone into some sort of shock, Dick could tell that much and he didn’t want to touch the broken boy or do anything that might cause him to lash out in his grief.

They remained like that for a little while, on the floor of the basement, neither one saying a word. What was there to say when the boy who had all of the words, the boy who had been taught all of the words, was gone?

“He was a good man, Joe. A good soldier.” Dick reached out gingerly, placing a hand on Liebgott’s shoulder. “And I am certain that he’s proud of you. But we have to keep going. We all need you, Joe. I need you, the boys need you. You’re part of Easy Company. Always.”

They couldn’t stay here. They needed sleep, both of them. They’d have a busy day ahead of them. Standing up, Dick had to physically lift Joe off of the floor. He was like a dead weight, totally unresponsive. But they managed, together. With Dick’s arms supporting him, Joe headed up the basement steps into the bedroom and was helped up onto Webster’s old bed by the other boys who left him alone after that - all of them could tell that he just needed some time to grieve alone, and that was okay. They’d give him as long as they possibly could.

Later on that night, once all of the other men were asleep, Liebgott lie awake, just thinking. He could hear Babe’s snoring and Gene’s sleep-talking. He could hear Malarkey’s heavy-breathing and Luz jiffling about in his bed. And as he stared aimlessly up at the ceiling, Webster’s rosary in his hands (which was surprising, given the men had come from different religions), he cried quietly, contributing his own small noise to the group. Webster was gone. He wasn’t coming back. But that was war - you lost people you loved. Malarkey had lost Muck and Penkala right in front of his very eyes. Buck had been left mentally scarred by witnessing Joe and Bill in Bastogne.

And as he lie there, unable to sleep, only one thought burned in his mind, the only true words he was able to find. _War screws everybody over,_ he thought to himself. _War screws everybody._


End file.
